“Come now, what good would that do, Decima. If you think her dead you will become morose and lose your motivation. No, she will be brought down once a day and fed by all three keepers, but you know what that means don’t you Decima?”
Decima looked forlorn, as this was a trade off, as so many things in slave’s life were. Claretta would be feed and watered, but while she was down the keepers would sexually used her tortured body. In her condition, the sexual use would bring more pain than pleasure.
There was nothing left now but the grieving of a relationship, as the tears flowed down Decima’s high-cheeked face. As her azure eyes looked up at Claretta, the unwitting victim of her love and lust, her heart raged inside her. I’m sorry my love, it’s my fault. Why is happiness so forbidden to us?
The white-hot fire of Decima’s pure submission worked overtime now, burning away any emotions or thoughts that conflicted with her success. Master holds all the cards and I will succeed or die.
Decima Rising
Chapter Three
On the fourth moons of the journey to the palace, Decima was bound at her wrists and ankles, as is the custom when slaves are transported. Sitting jammed into a small space cleared for her in the supply wagon, Decima had no time to be bored with the tedium of the journey, as both the wagon masters, one young and one older, were keeping her very busy.
A high-class pleasure slave such as Decima could expect lots of sexual use anytime she was transported, or under the control of lower echelon soldiers or civilians. The reason was simple, as they rarely got a chance to use a fine, beautiful slave like Decima, so when they did they made the most of it.
Right now, Decima had the younger one’s cock thrust deep down her throat, and she was obediently sucking at his command as the wagon bounced along pulled not by slaves as might often be the case, but by arabans. Decima was always entranced by the huge four-legged beasts that were the transportation mainstay of the Empire. As it had turned out, Decima was the only slave they carried, all the rest was foodstuffs and supplies, so she had been put to the test servicing the two wagon masters.
At least having a cock deep in your throat was better than dwelling on poor Claretta’s agony, as she swung from the metal bars. Decima had experienced bad dreams about Claretta under each moons, but had retreated back to the safety of the promise they had made each other. I may never see Claretta again, but she will be happy with Dracmus and bear a slave child named Decima to comfort her. I will never forget the taste of her skin, her soft hair, her quivering thighs, or her laughing smile.
Just after the rising of new suns, Decima’s wagon stopped on the roadside for the wagon masters to make breakfast. As Decima knelt in the grass, cool with morning dew, she watched a strange caravan of slave girls pass by. The naked chained women walked in two columns, trudging along bearing not only their metal chains of servitude, but burdened by a heavy, wooden log borne by each girl. The logs were thick and still possessing bark so Decima imagined they were quite heavy as she saw several girls struggling with the weight. The logs were tied to each girl’s forearms, spreading her arms and in most cases bending her back forward with the oppressive weight she bore on her shoulders.
Several thoughts passed through Decima’s mind as she watched the two long lines of slave girls pas by, escorted periodically by araban-mounted soldiers. Where are they going and why do they have to bear the log? Is the log meaningful, or just to punish them?
Examining them as the passed, Decima saw they were common girls, work slaves, who held no remarkable beauty, and were in many cases far older than she. The slave girls paid no attention to her, as they trudged along, but near the end of the lengthy procession, there came a slave that opened Decima and the wagon master’s eyes.
The anomaly was a lovely, green-eyed flaxen-haired beauty bound to a log like all the others but looking entirely out of place amongst her fellow slaves. One look told Decima this girl was as beautiful and desirable as she was, so what is she doing here? Decima was awed by the woman’s physique, trim and muscular, but not so much as to be unpleasing to the eye of Masters the woman moved with a lithe grace that spoke of her log being far less of a burden to her. Her breasts were stood up pert and full where here fellow slaves sagged, and her hips moved powerfully around her blonde patch of pubic hair.
At that moment, the young wagon master approached Decima and held out a gramon sausage for her to eat. Taking the bounty into her mouth, Decima chewed the grisly meat quickly, and then dared as the young Master a question.
“Do you know where are they bound for, Master?”
“Most likely they are bound for the far northeastern corner of the Empire to work on the Wall. Each one bears a log because wood has been in short supply there with all the building.”
Having gotten the answer to one question, Decima dared to ask another as she was curious why a slave a lovely as she would be amongst these beasts of burden. “The pretty one, there, Master, she does not look like a work slave. Why would she be with them?”
The young Master’s eyes followed Decima’s staring in wonder at the passing beauty. As if she knew they were both watching her, the slave turned her head to stare at Decima, but never stopped her forward movement. A puzzled frown crossed the young Master’s face and he called out to his older companion. “Favel, come, I need to ask you something.”
The older man was balding, and a bit fat, but he had a kind face, or so Decima thought. He stood up from where he had been sitting by the fire and acme over to them. As soon as he got close, the young Master pointed and spoke. “Why would a slave who looks like that be bound to hard labor on the Wall?”
“Aye, she’s a beauty. Only one reason I can think of why she’d be with these wenches. If you have an eye for that one, Daymar, you best like things wet in your bed. She’s a squirts, that one, no doubt of it.”
Daymar looked confused, and Favel looked as if he did not wish to explain further, so Decima took up the task. “With your permission, Master, slave girls sometimes squirt juices when they climax too hard. In most it is controllable, but I few slaves have no ability to stop the flow when they climax. Most Masters frown upon this, so it brings down a slave’s value greatly.”
Decima watched the blonde beauty’s firm ass fading in the distance and wondered. She goes to endless suns of hard labor while I go to the imperial palace to be a pampered sexual pet, but which one of us will be more fulfilled.
* * * *
It was mid-suns of the sixth day when the wagon passed through Tremall, the city which was built beside the Imperial Palace . What Decima saw in Tremall were the normal happening of a Ranexxian city. Master’s rushed about, as if in a hurry, some of them with naked slaves in tow, and the richer, well dressed ones being carried by their lovely servants. The markets were at full bustle, with auctioneers yelling out offers for food or luxury good at one moment, and then displaying prime female flesh the next. As the wagon passed by on auction stage, some farm slaves were being auctioned, and Decima wondered why they had not at least cleaned the slaves. Perhaps it doesn’t matter to anyone that they are covered in mud. Maybe it’s seen as a statement of how hard working they are.
Decima was tired, but when she saw the walls of the Imperial Palace and how they rose up to tower over the city, she was intrigued. It looks like a magnificent place; perhaps a place a slave girl can find some fulfillment. The palace that housed the Emperor of Decima’s world was a magnificent stone structure with towers, buttresses, and arches. She knew from Allus that the high wall completely encircled the palace, but inside the grounds were known to be lovely.
As the wagon creaked up to the main gate, Decima craned her neck to see what Allus had told her would be flying there. The long, purple imperial banner fluttered in the wind, and there indeed was a face there, angry and fierce, just as her Master had described. Congar, Ranexxian God of War, in whose honor all ancient warriors were called Congar warriors, looked down upon Decima. She noted that the special armor and face
paint was in full view on Congar’s face, and she had to admit, he did make her heart skip a beat.
To Decima, it seemed as though the wagon passed into a paradise of tranquil beauty when it passed through the main gate into the palace grounds. The place was immaculate, with sculptured lawns, fountains, multicolored flowers, and the displayed bodies of naked slave girls. Will this place be all it is rumored to be, taking my breath away with the depth and excitement of my service?
Decima’s attention was drawn to a display of four slaves, bound tightly to posts set in a square on an open stretch of lawn. The girl’s bodies had been painted gold, and their stretched open legs formed a square with their open clefts forming the four corners. Potted plants hung from their legs increasing the splendor and loveliness of their display. Their breasts had been wrapped tightly at the base with rope to squeeze their mounds painfully but make them stand out. Even through the gold paint. Decima could tell how purple and engorged with blood their breasts had become, and she wondered. How long are they displayed this way, a bell or two, all suns long, or perhaps several suns? Are these slaves’ imperials or simply common slaves used for display purposes?
The wagon lurched to a stop, and after a flurry of activity Decima was grabbed by each arm by Daymar and Favel and pulled out of the wagon. Forced to her knees, she looked up at the smiling face of a muscular, dark-eyed imperial centurion. He inquired of Favel matter-of-factly as to Decima’s identity.
“Is this the new imperial candidate from Governor Allus? We’ve been told he was sending a new one, and since her Master’s reputation for immaculate training precedes her, she may have to display her talents.” Before Favel even had a chance to speak, the centurion had Decima’s breasts in his hands, kneading and fondling to feel the lush softness.
“No doubt, sir, my young partner has been enjoying her for our entire journey.” Favel smiled and looked at Daymar.
As the young Master stepped forward the centurion laughed and slapped the Daymar on the shoulder. “Been enjoying the benefits of your job, boy, a good idea, use the fine ones when we can, that’s what I say. Thank the Four they have to travel.” The centurion grabbed Decima’s blond locks, pulling her face to him. “What does the Governor call you?”
“Decima, Master. May I serve you?”
“Humm, as expected, very well trained. That’s just what I had in mind.” Extracting his cock from under his tunic, the centurion presented it to Decima, who knew exactly what was expected of her.
Taking the salty length into her warm mouth, Decima did as she was trained to do; please. Indeed the centurion must have been awaiting her, as it did not take much effort on her part to taste his spend.
Touching Decima’s face, the centurion seemed to pause a moment with this pretty bauble fully in his control, as if he could stop his higher-ups from taking her as theirs. “That was warrior sperm you just swallowed, pretty one, remembered how it tasted, because once you get in the palace, if you do, you won’t find the like.” He caressed her soft breasts as if remembering, and then laughed uproariously.
“Now we start the final leg of your journey, the hardest part.”
Decima had no idea what he meant.
The centurion tossed a twenty kraya coin to Daymar. “Have drafts on me at the guardsman’s tavern in the city, and when I’m through with this one, I’ll join you.”
Daymar looked shocked, but Favel responded with respect to the gratuity. “Thank you, centurion, we look forward to buying a round for you.”
“Well, seems a shame to mess this beauty up so, but that’s what I’m off to do. Off course, I hear they clean up well, and that’s a job I want when I retire. How hard can a keeper job be when you’ve fought barbarians?”
Not bothering with a nipple leash, the centurion simply grasped Decima by the hair and pulled her to her feet. He dragged her toward a long passageway between two of the magnificent tall stone buildings jerking her as needed so she kept pace with him. When they reached the end of the passageway, they were behind the larges building, and Decima saw a small raised dock area, with an opening in the wall just large enough for a slave to wriggle through. There was a long thick gangplank which rose up to the dock and at first Decima thought it was painted black, but then she saw the plank glistened in the sunslight as if it had an oily quality. As they came closer, she saw that there was a pool of whatever substance covered the plank just before the plank. Suddenly apprehension set in, as she realized whatever he meant for her to do it wouldn’t be easy.
With no warning, the centurion pushed Decima down into the oily black pool and before she even got fully into the dark ooze, she smelled how revolting it was. She struggled against his grip but it was too strong, and the centurion soon had her face pushed right into the disgusting pool. Decima now lay on her stomach, wallowing in the substance as she tried to pull her face out of it when he let go. Scarily, this was not easy, as the oily substance gripped her face, and it took real strength to pull her face out of it. Once her face was free, Decima squirmed desperately to get the rest of her body out of the revolting oil, but she found it even harder to free her breasts than it was her face.
“It’s called Scumar oil, pretty one, a natural oil excreted in the waste of a revolting animal from the far west. As you can no doubt smell and feel at this moment, it has a disgusting scent and is quite sticky and viscous. Keep your eyes closed, for if the oil gets in there you may well be blinded for life.”
Decima nearly panicked at his words and she forced her jaw open and wailed at her condition, but this was a mistake, for in opening her mouth she allowed some scumar oil in and now she could taste it.
“You’re probably feeling it by now; the overwhelming feeling of nausea the oil causes. In your case you best ignore it, as you have much work to do to get into the imperial palace. That little opening at the top there is the slave entrance, but you must crawl up the plank and worm your way in to get there. The good news is that once you do get inside, a keeper is waiting for you, and he’ll wash you clean immediately. Scumar oil actually comes off quite easily if you have its neutralizing agent.” The centurion chuckled, and began to walk away, but Decima screamed.
“Please . . . what happens if I can’t do it?”
“Well, I’m going to have some ale with those keepers who brought you, and if you’re still here when I get back, I’ll behead you, and feed your body to the vellum hounds. Of course your head would be sent back to Allus, so he would know what became of you.” With that the centurion turned and left, leaving Decima to her predicament.
There was no choice, as for slaves there rarely are. Not only does my life depend on getting up that plank and into the palace, but so does Claretta’s Decima knew she must move, if not for my sake for Claretta. Resolutely, she put her hands to the ground and tried to push and worm her body forward through the oil, but it took all her strength to move the length of her hand. Groaning out her frustration, she felt her nausea increasing.
Decima moved barely, but as she did she discovered how the scumar oil clung to her skin so tightly. Every little movement felt like her breasts, belly, and bulbous clit were being ripped away from her body.
Although Decima had no idea, she was enduring a task that all imperials had endured for thirty seven seasons, in being forced through Tylock’s entrance. Tylock, a long dead imperial officer, had remembered the disgusting oil of the scumars he hunted as a youth, and had created this hellish endurance test for imperial slaves. It had evolved into a ritual, one the keepers and guards loved, and now, no slave entered the palace any other way.
Halfway up the plank now, Decima was still moving blindly with her mouth now clamped shut. With Claretta’s image burning in her brain, she endured the awful pulling on her flesh as she squirmed along. Her lovely, golden tresses now became her enemy, as they caught in the oil and she had to painfully pull them out.
Feeling the plank end, and the stone dock begin, she was nearly exhausted, but she found conditions only got wors
e. Against the stone surface her oil-covered skin stuck even more tenaciously, making every movement a ripping, tearing affair that caused pain to lance through her limbs. It took maximum effort, coupled with her love for Claretta, to get her to the threshold of the tiny slave door.
The door it self became an obstacle, so small she needed to wriggle through it like a fish, but its fabric edges clung to the drying scumar oil like glue. Grimacing, she finally pulled her filthy black feet through the door, and she felt a hand touch her face. A hot cloth with a strange fragrance wiped away the oil from her eyes and she opened them to behold a handsome, blond-haired keeper kneeling beside her. Looking at him for direction, as was natural of a slave to a keeper, she saw him smile, and state in a firm voice.
“Welcome to the imperial palace. I’ll get you clean up so you may serve like you’ve never served before.”
Decima Rising
Chapter Four
Decima awoke to the new suns in a cage, but smelling clean and fresh again the scumar oil only a bad memory. Sitting with her wrists and ankles were cuffed to o-rings set in the floor, she felt her skin was extra sensitive, perhaps from the oil. The straw that covered the bottom of the cage pricked more than usual, but as she was a slave, she must accept this.
Closing her eyes, she remembered the keeper bathing her. Her hands and feet bound to the four corners of a shallow tub, she had felt him rub her all over with the hot cloth he had used to remove the oil. He had cleaned her thoroughly, not just bathing her outer skin but penetrating her cunt and anus to scrub them clean and fresh.
Decima knew that common slaves were sometimes allowed to bath themselves, but with pleasure slave that privilege had been lost long ago to the male dominance of their lovely bodies. The purpose of keepers was to not allow the pleasure slave any independence, forcing her to depend on males for her daily maintenance.
Decima Rising Page 3